The Universe is a Very Big Place (38 page)

"Come with me," he whispered into her ear. "I can make you happy."

She shook her head, even as she kissed him. "It’s not just about me, John."

"I love you," he whispered, brushing the hair out of her ear with his mouth. "You told me you loved me, too."

"Yes. I love you." She looked up at him, her chin set with defiance. Her eyes had a faraway look to them. "...But it ends tonight."

John released her and made his way angrily back to his pickup truck, leaving her tottering behind. For a moment, he considered letting her find her own way home. But it was he who had broken the vows, not her. He dropped her off near her house without saying a word, just as the first rooster crowed from a purple house where socks were hung from trees.

Spring tiptoed across the room, racing the first beams of sunlight that seeped in through the window. Guilt stabbed at her as she saw Sam’s face, pale in the moonlight. She caught a glimpse of her own face in the mirror and stopped momentarily to study it. The reflection staring back looked alien to her. The features were the same, but there was an emptiness of expression to it. She was sure that same face hadn’t existed during her stay with John in his apartment.

Sam is the best thing that ever happened to me.
 

She challenged her reflection, daring it to contradict her.
Sam stirred behind her. Spring climbed into bed and felt Sam’s bony body beside her. She missed the feel of John already. She pushed her pillow into her head to drown out the images.

"Hi, sweetie," Sam said, rousing from the bed and heading to the bathroom. "Did I wake you?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "Lanie seems back to her normal self." Sam laughed, pulling up his black socks so that they were perfectly aligned with one another. "Told me she’s working on a voodoo doll of me. Your mother’s a kook, you know it? But a lovable one."
 

Sam tossed the towel into the hamper, blew Spring a kiss, and left the room.

"He knows." She mouthed the words. And tried with all her might to go to sleep.

She hadn’t realized she had slept so long, or so deeply. She awoke to Sam, elbows propped up on the edge of her bed, smiling dreamily.
 

"Wake up, sleepikins," he cooed, stroking her cheek. She tried to swat him away and he chuckled. "Wedding day jitters, Pooks. I have them too." He helped her up and escorted her to the bathroom where he encouraged her to look her finest. Beethoven was playing joyfully in the bedroom as she dressed. When she emerged, hair half-secured in a ponytail, wearing flip-flops and her wedding dress, Sam handed Spring her suitcase. She took it without question, knowing Sam would have everything she’d need for her honeymoon packed inside.

"I still don’t like the dress," he said, as he surveyed her. He was dressed in his tuxedo, resting against the door. He spun the cane in his right hand, his feet crossed at the ankles, posing like Mr. Peanut. "...And I packed your pumps so you can change before the ceremony. But it’s not like anyone is going to be taking pictures."
 

Spring smiled an agonized, close-lipped smile. She wondered if he could sense her distress. But he didn’t seem to notice.

"Okay, we’re off," he said, seizing the top hat from a hook on the wall. "...Off to our brand new life."

Lanie was sitting on the couch, stroking Buttermilk and sipping a Slim Fast. When she saw Spring and Sam in their wedding gear, she clicked her tongue. "So it‘s off to the altar for the two of you?" Buttermilk grunted in his two cents and Lanie gave him a soft squeeze on the ear.

"We are," Sam said, tipping his hat.

"I thought you may be too tired, Sam. After you spent all last night on the phone. Who was that you were talking to? Some book broker in Mesa?"

"Book broker? What book broker?" Spring said.

Sam glowered. "That doesn’t concern you, Lanie." He pushed Spring towards the door. "You shouldn’t be such a busy-body. Curiosity killed the cat."

Lanie huffed. "If that was the case, I’d be dead many times over. But mark my words. The Universe has its eye on you."

Spring shook her head. "Let’s just go," she snapped. "Before my legs give out."

Sam took her bag and carried it to the car. "Remember the vastness of the Universe!" Lanie called out as the door shut behind them.

"This is going to be so much fun, Pookie!" Sam fiddled with the radio dials, settling on a station that was playing the Beach Boys. He sang along, mucking up the words to
Help Me Rhonda.
"Next stop, Sedona!"
 

He pulled onto the freeway and accelerated, going much faster than the law allowed. He rolled down the window and offered a wave to the biker couple that rode alongside them. The wind caught his top hat and sent it tumbling down the freeway. Spring turned and watched it become a speck of black, shiny dust.

"Oh bother," he said, annoyed, but uncharacteristically shook it off. "By this time tomorrow we will be on our way to Grandma Rosary’s as Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Thomas Wayne."

Spring digested the news. "Sam," she said, watching the line of the road ahead. "Do you realize we’ve been together this long and I never knew your middle name?"

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "There’s a lot we will get to know about each other in our life to come." He reached across the seat and patted her knee. "So much to see, so much to do. It’s exciting!"
 

Spring watched the markers count down the miles to Sedona as Sam howled along to
Blue Moon.

John hadn’t slept at all. Not a wink. He tried a couple of times, but gave up and gave in to what was left of the night. Spring was getting married. Today. John knew he wasn’t the smartest guy in the world, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that this would be the greatest mistake of her life. His eyes scanned the living room, stopping at a bundle of multi-sized paint brushes on the table. He grabbed a beer and set up his easel. He had to capture the image of last night. Commit it to canvas before it was gone from his memory forever. His hand moved. Brush. Stroke. Dot. Brush. He was surprised by how fast he worked. The picture that took shape was effortless. Beautiful. He hated to take credit for it. It didn’t seem to be his.

A knock at the door startled him and he dropped a brush, sending droplets of white across the grey linoleum. "Coming," he mumbled, offering one final glance at his creation before dragging himself towards the door.

"This is for you," said the big-bellied man John recognized as his landlord. He brandished an envelope in his right hand. "I’m not the mailman, so please tell your friends what apartment number you live in, so I don’t have to play delivery boy again."
 

John received the letter, shutting the door before the man could say more. It was addressed to JOHN SMITH. John fished the Leatherman from his jeans pocket and used the knife accessory to slice open the envelope.

Dear John,

Please leave me alone.

I do not love you. You were just a project for me.

I need a man who can take care of me. Not a boy.

If you come near me again I will be forced to call the authorities.

Spring

John reread the letter several times. He turned it over to see if there was more, but the back was blank. He sank into the wall, not knowing what to do. He could take her leaving. He could take her marrying Sam. But he could not stand the thought that she didn’t love him. He wanted to scream, cry, break things, hurt things. He wanted to fuck the shit out of something. He had never experienced this feeling. This primal helplessness. He was an animal. He turned his attention to the girl in the painting. Her lips were parted as she looked at a boy. Him. Her eyes were wide. Intense. Truthful. As he stared at it he realized that something wasn’t right. The words in the letter weren’t right. His mind rolled over. He had to think now. Madness could wait.

John breathed deeply, letting the memory of last night engulf him, until he felt the truth of it. This wasn’t Spring’s doing. Sam had written the letter. John crumpled the paper and shoved it into his pocket.

Spring might be marrying Sam, but she loved him. He would give her the wedding gift. Then he would set her free for good.

Twenty-Eight

Lanie sat on the couch, flipping through channels, pausing at the ones selling promises of youth and sexual prowess. She heard a knock on the back door and smiled as she saw Bob’s head peeping into view. That man was all the youth and sexual prowess she needed.

"I’ve decided not to go on my trip," he said, stepping in and adjusting his bow tie. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and she wondered how he fared so well in the Arizona heat. The man never sweated. "I’d miss you way too much."